


The Presence of Absence

by LittleRaven



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Study, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Dreamsharing, Episode: s03e01 Anne, F/F, Kendra lives, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Episode: s02e21-22 Becoming, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Study, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: After Acathla, Buffy is gone, but Kendra remains.
Relationships: Buffy Summers/Kendra Young
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	The Presence of Absence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wolf_of_Lilacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/gifts).



> Originally posted on August 29, 2020.

Her throat took some time to recover enough for her to speak comfortably, despite Slayer healing. It was a particularly difficult body part to have injured, Kendra knew from her lessons in anatomy, and so she was prepared to wait. 

It should not have mattered; her duty called her back to Mr. Zabuto, now that the apocalypse was averted. A slashed throat did not merit delay if it was not enough to kill her. Yet here she still was, in the hospital lobby, waiting for Buffy's mother. 

Kendra could have walked, but Mrs. Summers had insisted during her visit. Her eyes were lined and red, but her face was composed. Far more poised than her daughter. She revised the thought; Buffy had worn something of the look on that last night. The look of knowing she was in the eye of the storm, and there was nothing to be done except get through it. 

Perhaps she could concede that family had done one Slayer some good, if Buffy ever came back. If Buffy wanted to hear it. Kendra did not understand why Buffy had left, having won. Won alone, at the end, despite all her friendships and Kendra herself. 

Willow told her later, sitting together in Buffy’s living room, that maybe it wasn’t the case. “It’s been a long time since Angel was, you know.” The look at the floor was heavier than the pause, which ended swiftly. “Friendly. They might’ve needed time.” And she wasn’t sure how well they could’ve taken seeing him so soon. From friend to enemy overnight, and then back again. 

Who needed the time, then, Buffy or Angel? Kendra remembered the way Buffy had defended him, the ferocity of the threat in her words and her voice. All that and Buffy had been left alone anyway when he’d turned. They were loyal, her friends, but she could imagine their opinions becoming a little more like hers had been, once the soul was gone. Once again, she altered her thoughts; better to have always been alone than to not be and become alone. It was the fate of the Slayer. Buffy’s experience had proven her Watcher’s teachings correct. 

That was why Buffy had not returned. Kendra had opened her mouth to share this with Willow, whose face was tight despite the hope her own words had suggested. It was not Kendra whom Willow had hoped to reassure. Kendra didn’t need reassurance. 

She was, as always, the Slayer, if living with rather more comfort than the calling had ever before afforded her. One of Buffy’s white sweaters lay soft on her skin. No wonder she could give one to Kendra with no real idea of when they would see each other again—the girl had so many clothes. 

She closed her mouth again. Willow had to have noticed her intent, but she asked no questions. Good. Managing her emotions was part of Slayer training; managing the emotions of others was not. 

Silence spoke for her instead, and Willow left her to it. 

The sea was bright, brighter than Kendra had seen it in a long time. Sleeping during the parts of the day when she was not training or studying was efficient for someone who needed to hunt at night. Still, she remembered it looking like this, in the life when her potential had lain undiscovered. It was the sea of her home in full daylight, the water light green as it touched the shore and rich blue where it fed into the open ocean. 

Sweat pooled on the skin of her feet in their boots. She took them off, digging her toes into the sand to find purchase. A Slayer kept her balance, shod or barefoot. 

“Nice polish,” Buffy said, looking at Kendra’s dark red toenails. “Fingernails and the toes no one but you ever sees—that’s dedication. I knew you couldn’t be nearly as ascetic as you claimed. I mean, look at your outfit.”

Kendra looked. It was what she had worn when they had first met, aside from how her feet remained bare. Her favorite shirt was whole. She couldn’t remember if she’d been wearing this a moment ago, but now Buffy was touching the hem of the shirt where it brushed her midriff, finger tracing over both cloth and skin. She was warmer than the sun. 

“It’s glitzy, shiny. You would’ve been a hit at the club if you’d stayed a little longer. Maybe learned how to talk to boys.” 

“Boys aren’t who I want to talk to,” Kendra told her. 

“Good, because there aren’t any here.” Buffy’s shadow seemed to lengthen, though the surrounding light remained unchanged. 

“Good,” Kendra repeated, reaching for Buffy’s hand, and woke up. 

She chose not to tell Mr. Giles. The chances of the dream being literal were low to nonexistent; Buffy would not meet her by the sea in Jamaica, and she did not think that would transpire on a beach in California either. She would not feel Buffy’s hand light on her bare belly, and take it in her own. 

It had been a month of Kendra looking after the Hellmouth, as Mr. Zabuto had permitted. Buffy was out in the world, perhaps doing her duty, perhaps running. With Angel, possibly—her stomach tightened—or not. She was not sure Buffy would have stayed away this long if she’d still had Angel, if she recognized any chance to go back to the life she’d prized. 

Like Kendra, she was alone. 

The dream did not come not every night, but it did keep coming as the summer wore on. They were always standing under the sun, the water just a few feet away. Kendra never touched Buffy, and Buffy never led her across the short distance to swim, or to lie on their backs and float in the waves. Never unbound Kendra’s hair to let it mingle with her own. 

Kendra was used to writing down her dreams for analysis, but she had known from the beginning what this one meant. Her dedication to her studies, her discipline, had left her with a clear mind. Whatever Buffy had thought when she had told her to feel her anger, Kendra had already known how to recognize her emotions when she felt them. It was a question of refraining from action, of not being compelled. Easy to do, with Buffy not around. She did not even need to call on her training. 

She sat on the living room floor. Mrs. Summers liked to watch her meditate, and she did not mind; if the attention had been distracting at first, that challenge to her skills gave her more reason to welcome it. 

When someone approached the house, Kendra heard it first, mind acknowledging the sound, ready to rise if it were danger. 

Mrs. Summers opened the door.


End file.
